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5addictions:

Breakfast by miwaramone on Flickr.

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She did not need much, wanted very little. A kind word, sincerity, fresh air, clean water, a garden, kisses, books to read, sheltering arms, a cozy bed, and to love and be loved in return.

Starra Neely Blade (via creatingaquietmind)

(via galaavander)

pugsnotborissjohnsen:

crying is the biggest bullshit ever its like “oh you’re feeling sad and vulnerable, lets make liquid come flying out of your face and make it really loud too so everyone around you will sense your weakness” who the fuck authorized this. its terrible planning, id like to file a complaint

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1hey:

it hurt when I stumbled across her.
she was like broken glass all along the floor.
but it was beautiful and my curiosity got the best of me.
I remember looking at her and all I could see was pain.
she had this insane look of desperation; you could almost feel it.
and yet her eyes were still hollow; like the life had been sucked out of her.
I wanted to pick up her pieces.
I wanted to put her back together.
and so I tried. I really did.
I got a little cut along the way.
the more I tried to fix her the more fragile I became myself but I didn’t care.
I wanted to see her happy.
every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever.
she was getting better.
eventually she was put together enough to get up and walk away.
but she didn’t take me with her.
and I’ve been stuck sitting here where I first found her.
wondering if the pieces left on the floor are hers or mine.
I should probably get the fuck up.

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tarassein:

stunningpicture:

Lions pretend to be hurt by the bites of their young to encourage them.

this put the biggest smile on my face

(via galaavander)

If caring too much makes me “weird”,
then let me be weird.
Let me be five letters that
mean nothing besides
others cannot count the songs
that have wounded them by
the number of bullet holes
in their chest.
Let me be shaking fingers and
tears the color of ink.
If the lump in my throat is not
“inspiration”, as I call it,
but “weird”,
then so be it.
I have spent too much energy
bandaging my punched chest
to name each
swiss cheese hole.
“Weird”, I’ll say,
as I go about stuffing my wounds.
I have a trumpet for a tongue
and twenty piano key toes
that tight rope walk over “weird”
without fear of falling in it.
I am weird.
What else you got?

hybridthry:

wearing all black today to mourn the death of my motivation

(via thefuuuucomics)

You deserve the kind of love you would give someone else.

#127: (February 3, 2014)

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